Visting Hours
by The Matthews Atelier
Summary: An episodic series of short stories that cover the visits of a young International Police Force agent to his doctor's office.


The Boy

"Hello, are you calling to schedule an appointment?"

"Yes, with the Behavioral Health Department."

"I can pencil you in for tomorrow at four o'clock, is that okay?"

"Excellent."

"Okay. So, in review, this is Jonathan Parker scheduling an appointment at four o'clock P.M. with Dr. Lucas Wright on Tuesday, October the seventeenth at out North Boulevard, Lumiose City location.?"

"Um, yes."

"Okay, thank you. Have a nice day."

"You too."

I walk into the waiting room not knowing what to expect. It's a droll beige color with a black carpet. Little tables are positioned next to each other in the center, with children's board books stacked up on them.

I hope that children that young don't need to be here.

I take a seat in one of the twenty or so chairs placed around the perimeter of the room, and glance at my watch; a digital model, I don't have the time to figure out what fucking time it is staring at tiny hands. It's three fifty-seven. Of course I'm here early, I guess I can people-watch for a second.

Looking around at the other chairs, I see people who either look entirely uncomfortable, or entirely to comfortable. There's a woman sitting on the exact opposite side of the room with a desolate look on her face as she stares at the door leading back into the offices. It's like she's waiting for Death to come strolling through. She turns and hunches forward, looking straight down at the floor, and he back begins to quake. Choking sobs resound through the room and one of the" too-comfortables" gets up and stands beside her, rubbing her back.

"Why is this happening to me? To us?" she gasps between sobs.

"What is it? Why are you here?" It's some other woman.

She shakes her head, "It's not me," her sobbing intensifies, "m-my daughter. Oh God!" she completely breaks down into a mess of tears.

I can't help but to recline and observe.

"I don't know what to do anymore, she's not eating. She's...cutting, I think. I- she won't tell me anything, I don't-" and a return to a tempest of tears.

I smile a bit, that's rather poetic. I realize I'm smiling, and I shake my head as if trying to shake out these thoughts. What the hell's wrong with me? This isn't funny at all.

"Are you smiling?" she sounds pissed. She's glaring at me, eyes bloodshot, face red, tears run from the corners of her eyes down to the curves of her frowning mouth. "Do you think this is fucking funny?" She lashes out, but the person holds her back. I'm getting unwelcoming looks from all over the room, I really just want that damn door to open. "Why are you here, huh? Do you think whatever insignificant bullshit in your useless life even remotely matters? Did you overdose or something? Did the court send you here? Where's your parole officer?" She screams at me.

I don't blink, I don't let any internal reaction get the best of me except the one that tells me to look her straight in the eye and hear her. Let her lash out in hatred, disgust, whatever. She's just scared. "I'm sorry for whatever is happening to your daughter," I say. Something in the back of my mind wanders: Do I really look like some junkie? So I forgot to gel my hair back, I wasn't expecting some lady to jump on my case.

The person calms her down and she goes back to sobbing. My watch alarm begins to beep, and I silence it. Four o'clock, I'm next. A young man with a very handsome face comes into the room and looks around, "Jonathan," he glances at his clipboard, "Parker?"

I stand, "Right here."

He smiles, "C'mon back."

I walk to the door and stop beside the woman, and say, "I'm sorry," then walk back with the man. The door closes and locks behind us. Looks like I'm sealed in.

"I couldn't help but notice you didn't list a reason why you're here."

"I was pressured, more or less."

"Pressured? By whom?"

"Last time I came in for my physical I told them I was feeling anxious, and a little stressed out, so they recommended I swing by here."

"I saw that you were an Agent in the International Police Force; stress comes with the job."

"It's not work." I know what it is, but I don't think I'm going to tell this guy.

"Then your personal life? Here's my office, go ahead and take a seat." He ushers me into a little white room with a small desk in it with a computer. He sat down in one of those little swivel chairs you see in most offices, and I sat in a much more comfortable cushioned chair.

"I guess so."

"You guess so?" He looked at the clipboard again, flipping to another page, "You know you're supposed to fill all of this out, right?"

I laugh, "Sorry, I don't really like talking about myself."

"Or do you not like talking to a psychologist?" He smiled gently.

"I wouldn't know, I've never been to one."

"Well there's no judgement here, you can tell me anything."

Bullshit, "Bullshit," I let it slip.

"Opening up already. Why do you think you deserve judgement?"

I pause, "It depends on who you ask."

"Then who would be asking?"

I think of something, any issue will do, "Have you heard of this fringe church, The Church of the New Living?" Wait, that actually works.

"I have. What about them? Why would they judge you in particular?"

Good God, all he has are questions. At least I don't really have to lie about this, "It's..." Harder to say than I thought. I sigh, "I have a boyfriend."

"So you're gay?"

The word hits me harder than it should at this point, I'm a grown fucking man. "Yes." The words are trembling just as much as me, what the hell?

"What's your boyfriend like?"

"Can we not talk about this?"

"Not if it bothers you so much."

Stop being so calm, you little shit, "He's...special."

"Is he gay too, or rather does he consider himself gay?"

"I don't know. I guess. I mean, far be it for me to speak for him."

"So he's independent?"

Well yes, but there's another reason for that, "He's a Pokémon." I feel my face get flush. This in itself is embarrassing.

"You're a Poképhile." His face fills with understanding, and types something up on his computer. He pauses and types some more, "That is...interesting."

Interesting. So that's a fucking relief, I'm interesting. Thank you so much for telling me that.

"So what is it about this church that bothers you?"

I can't tell if he's baiting me or if he really doesn't know anything about them, "I'm a gay Poképhile, why wouldn't they bother me?"

"Tell me."

I sigh, "They believe in this system of tenants established by their leader... I don't his name. Anyway, it's basically a list of things you can't do if you want to get into their version of Heaven."

"So is most religion."

I laugh, he has a point. "Well, like most religions tend to, they believe that homosexuality is wrong and even punishable by death. The same goes for Poképhilia."

"Does it scare you?"

I actually take a moment to consider this. Does it? It's not why I'm stressed, but I can't act like it doesn't concern me in the slightest, "Yes." The words come out on their own. It bothers me, but I sigh again. "I worry. A lot really."

"About what?"

"Well, _that. _Um, it's... more delicate than I can adequately explain."

"What do you mean?"

You really can't get anything by him. Well, I guess he's just doing his job.

I tap my foot, as I often do when I get nervous. I see that he's noticed it as his gaze flicks from my eyes to my bouncing knee for a split-second. I wrap what I've confided before in a believable lie, "I was once told that this boy's life was worth the fate of the world. If he died, then everyone would be safe in the end. I mean, this was a kid, not much older than sixteen. And..." I run my hands through my hair and sigh, "I didn't do anything."

"Why are you so nervous about this? I'd say you did well."

"It wasn't once, but twice. He...reminds me of...me, really. I can't help but keep him out of harm's way, but I'm supposed to kill him. I mean, what the hell does the IPF want with some kid?"

The lie feels good now, it's believable in its unbelievability. My nervousness, coupled with such a story, it all works. "A lie is best hidden between two truths," I can't remember who said that.

"So you don't agree with your bosses?"

"No! Hell no!" It's a passionate cry, "He's just like me, but he's still got a chance, you know?"

"What do you mean by that, 'he's still got a chance'?"

"Well...his life is just starting and he's got plenty of opportunity ahead of him."

"That you didn't?"

"That's not what I said."

"No, you said, 'he's still got a chance,' which implies that you aren't doing what you originally set out to."

"Are we ever? We grow up with these ridiculous notions of dreams, they're just childish delusions of grandeur that we can be more than...some...one, petty person who's life is just...worthless in the grand scheme of things."

"I always wanted to be a doctor, what did you want to be?"

I scoffed, "I wanted to be the Champion."

"Did you try?"

"You bet your ass I fucking tried!" I shout this and he gestures for me to lower my voice. I apologize and continue, "I got seven badges too, I was a damn good trainer."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Life, I guess. I started 'seeing' my partner, and it got complicated. I realized I wasn't nearly prepared enough to keep going and dating one of the creatures battling for me. I didn't like it at all."

"What about it didn't you like?"

"Do you have a...wife, girlfriend, whatever?"

"Yes."

"Imagine telling them to go fight and maybe even die for you, just so you can be...fuck I don't even know what. I couldn't make him do that with a good conscious, so I made him stop. It sort of made me stop."

"And what made you see this in the boy?"

"That's not my place to say."

"Why not?"

"I mean I can't talk about it. Classified."

"Nothing will leave this office."

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Is he..._like_ you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is he a homosexual?"

"Are you trying to call me a pedophile?"

"Not at all, I'm simply asking. You must relate to him on some other matter other than being a Trainer. There are plenty of people like that, so why is he so particularly significant to you?"

I might as well tell him, "Y-yes. Just like me."

"A Poképhile too?"

"What the fuck did I just say?" This is so fucking embarrassing, I must sound like such a creep.

"I'm sorry," he says and types something on his computer. "Agent Parker, what I suggest is for you to take it up with your superiors if there is some other way to deal with the situation, and I suggest for you to take a deep look at yourself and find out what you have problems with and come back when you figure it all out." He stops, "Okay?"

"Fine." I shake my head, this was supposed to sort everything out, right? Are we done or something?

"I've scheduled you for another appointment next week, and we'll work from there," he stands and gets the door, "There's nothing wrong with who you are. It's fine."

I scowl a little and nod, walking out. I walk back into the lobby and the woman's gone. I look behind me and Dr. Wright smiles and waves.

Fucking prick.


End file.
